Free Cuttlefish by Dave Freer

to your mother.”
    So they did. And her mother said no just as firmly.
    â€œMother. I was the one who could fit through the ventilation shaft. This isn't any different,” said Clara.
    â€œYou could drown, dear,” said her mother.
    â€œAnd if we're here by daylight, they could bomb us. Never mind could. Will. And then we'll all die.” She had a moment of an almost satisfyingly gloomy image of their bodies washing in the tide.
    â€œYou're too young,” said Mother.
    â€œThey let that boy who served us breakfast try. He's bigger than me, but I don't think he's much older. But he's a boy, right?” said Clara, knowing she was playing her mother's own sore points, but also knowing that it was true.
    Her mother bit her lip. Nodded. “All right. How safe is it, Captain?”
    The captain shrugged. “Not safe. But no worse risk than sitting here while they drop drop-mines onto us. It'll be cold and wet, but she can practice using the hookah before the chamber floods. We can close it when it is half-full, and she can check that she can do it.”
    Her mother closed her eyes, briefly, then said, “Very well. Can we do a trial?”
    The captain nodded. “I'll get the boy to talk her through it too, as well as the divers. She's a very brave lass, ma'am,” said the captain.
    â€œShe's her father's daughter,” said Mother, looking as if she might start crying.
    Clara didn't know what to say. So she hugged her mother instead. “We'd better find you some clothes fit for getting wet in. I don't think you have a bathing costume. Could you arrange some boy's breeches for her?”
    â€œOf course, ma'am,” said the captain.

    The water was cold, so cold that it hurt and wanted to take her breath away, but at least it was really not that difficult to breathethrough the hookah. All the trial did was to get her wet and cold before the real thing started.
    So they closed the hatch again, and she opened the outer one herself. The icy water filled the chamber again, and soon she had to breathe through the hookah. Having to do it was actually better than having a choice about putting your head underwater and breathing.
    The gap between the hatch and the hull was very narrow, but with a bit of wiggling she managed to get her elbow out. It was tight and awkward. It was also so cold it was hard to think. Ah. The boy had said you had to pass the knife out. So she did. And cut. She tried to move the screw for opening the hatch with numb fingers. It turned, it was wider now—she pushed herself up and out towards it.

    Tim watched as the girl's mother stood there, wringing her hands. Looking at her watch. And Captain Malkis surreptitiously looked at his timepiece, and obviously reached a decision. “Seal the outer hatch. We need to open the inner airlock.”
    A submariner began turning the polished crank-wheel. Two turns…“It's not sealing, sir. Something in the way.”
    â€œLieutenant Willis. Go up to the bridge. Put the forward spotlight on, and see if you can see the hatch.”
    Barely a minute later Willis came running, yelling, “Open the hatch! She's outside.”

    It was so cold. Cold cold cold. So hard to think. Once her head was out it had been easier to go out to try and snip with the cutters at the steel wires—which needed both hands, than to try and reach out. Opening her eyes underwater had been hard, but she could see a little in the water-filtered moonlight.
    And then…the hatch began to close on her foot. She pulled it out. Tried to grab the hatch to stop it. It went on closing. It was too strong for her to resist. In a panic, she pushed the cutters in, and they slipped from her numb hands. The knife. She pulled it from the sheath, and got the hilt in, just in time to stop her air hose being crushed. But she could not even get a hand in to try and open it.
    And in her frantic thrashing she'd got her legs tangled into the folds of